


[WiP] Excommunicado

by KindListener



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Major Character Injury, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably gonna be a big thing at some point but right now it’s just....this, Spoilers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: Zander owes John - big time - and tensions run high counting down to John's new identity asexcommunicado.





	[WiP] Excommunicado

Ernest. For God's sake. It's deep and bleeding. Probably nicked an artery.  
"Welcome to the Muse, sir. How can I help?" I ask, without looking up. He's silent and, eventually, I look up and recognise John, he looks...like shit. He places down the marker, with the note, and I push it back across the table. "Come with me, sir." He follows me to the staff elevator and limps to my room, where I let him in. I offer him a chair and he takes it. His wrist is bleeding, though not as heavily as his shoulder. I hitch his blazer over the points of his shoulders to look at the stab wound.  
"Why did you leave me a marker?" John asks and I lift up his hand, rolling his sleeve up to look at his wrist. I grab a roll of bandages and begin to apply them.  
"I hurt you." I state, simply, blowing hair out of my eyes. "It sounds stupid but I prefer my hits to be dispatched as painlessly as possible. As that's the case, when I missed your head, I decided to leave you that marker as a form of compensation." He looks confused as I finish wrapping up his wrist.  
"... Thank you. Watch yourself, I've only got a few minutes until I'm—." I look to his shoulder and retreat to get a needle and thread.  
“Excommunicado, I know.” I draw in close to sew up the puncture wound. I push the needle through the dermis and proceed to pull it through the flesh. He shudders and grabs at my wrist, hand shaking. "Don't worry we're nearly done." Only a couple more stitches and the wound's edge pull together. "Excommunicado, huh? That's D'Antonio's fault, right?" He nods as I apply a gauze to the wound. "Hey... Umm-- Listen, I know I'll probably never see you again, after this marker is complete, but I just..." His doe eyes stare up at me, his brows cocking at my statement.

Grabbing at the lapells of his blazer, I pull him closer, our lips touching in one firey moment. His fingers squeeze the back of my neck, pulling me down, pulling me closer. I pull back when his nails break the skin at the back of my neck. Is he trying to kill me? He looks ready for bloodshed, hungry for flesh.  
“John.” I murmur, breathlessly.  
“Zander.” He only states my name and I feel my heart lurch into my mouth. “Touch me, again.” It sounds as close to a plea as a man like him can get; the slight quiver in his voice, the averted gaze, the clenching fists.

When I can’t be away for him any longer, we lunge at each other; him, out of the chair I leant him, and me, from only a few feet away. My legs buckle but he has me, holding me to him as blood gushes down his face, painting my own in the process. Real interest or just blood loss? I’ll never know. He curls his fingers into my hair and groans against me, feeling the blood trickle between our lips, contaminating the kiss, making it something else. Something more brutal, animal, heavy.

He shoves me down on the bed, his blood staining the sheets a dark crimson. One hand on my throat and the other beside my head, he holds himself up, my oxygen running low as he presses down on my windpipe. When I use up the last of what’s in my lungs, he releases my throat, air rushing through me, my vision going white. When the mist clears, he’s, curiously, stroking at the front of my pants. Him choking me, if only for a brief second, got me rock hard. I guide his hand to the buttons on my shirt but he rips them off, tearing my shirt open. The buttons fly everywhere but he doesn’t care, bloodied nails scarring down my chest, leaving dark red stripes in their wake. Blood rises to the skin and I watch him lean down to lap it up.

Burying my hands into his hair, I wrench his head up to mine, shoving his lips against my own. Blood, coffee, smoke and more blood. His fingers find my belt, making quick work of that but, carefully, setting it to one side. Next, my pants go and I kick off my shoes. When he pulls back, he looks ravenous, ready to sink his teeth into another living being: me.  
“On your front.” He mutters, only inches away from my face.  
“W...What?” I ask, dazed, as he picks up my belt, folding it in his hands and making it snap against itself, menacingly.  
“On. Your. Front.” He murmurs, again, through gritted teeth and I turn over, hastily.

On my knees, he runs a finger under the waistband of my briefs, before hitching them down to see the naked curves of my ass. He runs a scarred palm down one cheek and I squirm.

God... How much I want him — need him — inside me...

“Shit, John...” He feels down the ridges of my spine, feeling me shiver and take in a lungful of air. His index finds my entrance. Fuck. My body is begging, desperate, for him. A glance over my shoulder shows him still fully dressed. I flip over to skim my hand over the front of his pants and watch him suppress a moan. Unbutton, pull, hitch. His erection is free to the air; brutal and intimidating, just like the rest of him. It’s gorgeous. I have to marvel at it, if only for a moment. I lean in, taking in the heady scent of him. It’s so...so... “John.” I breathe and he pulls my head back, staring into my emerald eyes, for a little over a second. He leans down, pressing his lips to mine, his hair getting inmy eyes as I reach up to touch his cheek.

The way he holds me; soft and tender as a teddy bear then dangerous and threatening as a boa constrictor. His wife was a lucky, lucky woman... Whatever this turns out to be? I won’t, ever, replace her. If anything, I would always be second best but that works for me.

I pull at his tie, pulling him closer and closer until his clothed knee presses against my leaking cock. Hands in my hair, on my shoulders, on my chest.

Excommunicado. I could get killed for this... Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright © 2019 by Charlie E. Drake  
> All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.


End file.
